


"Evening."

by PotterWhoLockLin



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Kidnapped, Missing Scene, Pool scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotterWhoLockLin/pseuds/PotterWhoLockLin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from The Great Game. How did John end up at the pool?</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Evening."

John froze as he heard the cold click of a safety behind his ear. Why couldn't anything be simple? He'd gone out to buy milk, for god's sake. Just a normal, everyday task - then suddenly he gets ambushed behind Tesco's.  
Tesco's, of all places. Why couldn't it have been Waitrose? At least Waitrose was vaguely classy. But Tesco's?  
You're rambling. Stop it. Take control, soldier.  
Right, yes. Back to the kidnapping.  
"You know, Dr Watson, this was easier than I expected it to be," drawled a vaguely familiar voice. "I was almost...hoping for more."  
"Who are you?" said John, the only give-away of his fear being the clipped speech he used.  
"My, my, John. Don't you recognise me? It's not like we haven't met before."  
The voice moved around until it faced him.  
"Hi, my name's Jim. Don't try to answer," he said, as John made to open his mouth. "Just get in the car, where we can discuss this properly."  
John saw no point in arguing. He ducked into the car, the barrel of the gun pressed firmly into the side of his head.  
"Now, John," said Jim, flashing a grin that contained far too many teeth. "Neither of us want you shot, so let's just take this slowly."  
John stared nervously into the dead, shark eyes.  
"I want you put on the coat and earpiece, walk out into the pool and meet Sherlock. And I want you to say exactly what I tell you to."  
"And if I don't?" asked John, sounding far braver than he felt.  
"Then I'll kill you," said Jim, his voice losing all trace of jocularity.  
John swallowed.

John let himself be bundled into the bomb vest and wired up. There was so much adrenalin coursing through his system that he was almost glad of the coat; it stopped him from shivering from the sweat that dripped from every pore.  
"Now, Dr Watson," purred a voice directly in his ear, causing him to start violently. He was so on edge right now that if someone even touched him then he would probably end up slugging them in the jaw, gun or no gun.  
Jim laughed. "Get out there, John. Go and meet your boyfriend, there's a good dog."  
"We're not a-" John started to say out of habit.  
"NOW," Jim said, voice layered with steel. A hand shoved John between his shoulder blades and he walked out of the cubicle.  
The first thing that caught his attention was Sherlock; his shocked face stood out boldly from the background. John had never seen Sherlock so absolutely stunned before. It was at this moment that he realised what an impact he had made on the detective's life.  
Jim's voice prompted him through the earpiece.  
"Evening," John said.

John felt rather on edge. Jim seemed to be toying with them, running rings round them. He and Sherlock were enjoying a lengthy battle of wits and, it had to be said, all John wanted to do was wade in and bang their heads together. Come on, let's get out of here, let's go, his instincts screamed. But he couldn't. He was anchored here by this bloody bomb and by Sherlock.  
He was slightly resentful (not to mention humiliated) about being the bait, the "damsel in distress". He was a soldier, for christ's sake. He should be able to cope with this on his own, not have to wait for a smart-arse intellectual twice his height with barely a scrap of meat on him to save him.  
Needless to say, when he saw Jim toss the memory stick in the pool, he saw it as an opportunity. He launched himself at the man, taking him by surprise and holding him still. Just as he suspected. No muscle whatsoever.  
"People do get so sentimental about their pets." John tightened his grip angrily. Pet, was he?  
A red laser appeared on Sherlock's forehead, and John backed down. Useless. Bloody useless.

More dialogue. More banter. Most of it swept right over John's head. Oh, they said they were smarter than everyone else, but in reality they were like two year olds. Advanced two years olds, sure, but two year olds nonetheless.  
And then suddenly Jim was leaving.  
"Catch...you...later."  
"No, you won't!" sang Jim (or Moriarty, as John supposed he should call him now).  
And then he was gone.  
Sherlock immediately bent down in front of John and, fumbling slightly, yanked off the coat and skimmed it across the floor to the other side of the pool. John felt a little too drained to realise the implications of their position until they had moved apart.  
"Jesus..." he muttered, reaching up and pulling out the earpiece. A weakness flooded through his legs and his staggered to the side of the room, clutching a pillar for support as he slid down to a squat.  
"Oh, Christ..."  
Sherlock returned, looking agitated and scratching his head with the gun. John chose not to comment.  
"Are you ok?" he asked, sounding, to his eternal embarrassment, slightly breathless.  
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine."  
"That, er...thing that you, er, did; that um..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "That you offered to do. That was, um, good."  
John stared blankly ahead. "I'm glad no one saw that."  
"Hmmm?"  
"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool? People would talk." For some reason he can't quite meet Sherlock's eyes.  
"People do little else." Maybe it's the adrenalin, maybe it's the shock, but John starts to laugh. It's over, they're safe, they can both go home to Baker Street and to Mrs Hudson. His snort was cut off by the red laser beam fixating itself on his chest.  
"Oh," he moaned in anguish. Would this night never end?  
"Sorry boys! I'm sooo changeable!"  
This pretty much set the tone for the rest of the night.


End file.
